


The Distance Between Us

by moonflares (jennyhearts)



Series: The Distance Between Us AU [1]
Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Ambiguously established relationship, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Judar-centric, M/M, There is some fluff but mostly there's ANGST, sinjufest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 07:59:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10589766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennyhearts/pseuds/moonflares
Summary: Two years have passed since Judar was banished to the Dark Continent. He returns to find the world a little different (but also exactly the same) as he remembers.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 1's "Canon" prompt of Sinjufest 2017! I am horribly behind but that's not going to stop me from writing for all three days, they'll just continue to be late lmfao. Split into two parts for easier reading.
> 
> But being late also means I get to post this on actual sinju day so yeah Happy Sinju Day!!

 

Judar leaned against the marble, the smooth rock warm against his exposed back. He bit into the rosy-hued fruit that was a staple at every trade booth in this kingdom. It had been too easy for Judar to lift a few of the ripest ones and drop them in his scarf. The soft flesh yielded easily beneath his teeth, the strange juice that was both sweet and sour flooding his mouth.

It was a good fruit, Judar had to admit. He remembered the traders hollering its name but he hadn't been paying attention. It was a good fruit but it paled in comparison to even an average peach.

It was a good fruit but it wasn't the same.

Just like how this kingdom wasn't the same, not anymore.

Two years had passed and while Judar expected _some sort_ of change—he wasn't a complete idiot, contrary to popular belief—he definitely had not expected to return to Sindria to find it kingless.

Judar took another bite from the fruit before letting it slip through his sticky fingers. The fruit hit the marble with a small thud, leaving an ugly bruise that stood out against its rose skin as it rolled away from Judar. It rolled and rolled until it rolled over the edge of the slanted platform Judar was resting on, tumbling out of sight.

Judar scoffed, correcting himself as he dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.

Sindria wasn't kingless.

The one assimilated member of his household was warming the throne as Sindria’s rightful king was off somewhere being the insufferable idiot that he was.

Judar folded his arms behind his head. The sun was being swallowed by the sea beyond the horizon, its dying rays setting everything it touched ablaze in a golden glow. Even the ocean, normally the clearest of blues, looked like it was on fire, the waters dipped in orange to match the sky painted in shades of yellows, reds, and the faintest of purples at the furthest corners of its canvas.

Judar watched the day turn to evening quietly. He chewed on the inside on his cheek as he pressed his lips together into a thin line. He sighed, finally—a long, deep one that made the bones of his chest rattle.

“At least the sunset is the same.”

 

| | | |

 

Judar had told Yunan that he was going to look for Hakuryuu when he left The Great Rift. The other magi had told him that Alibaba would need a year to regain his former strength. There had been an excited glint in his pale blue eyes when Yunan started explaining to Judar from across the table, on which Alibaba’s debilitated form was resting, about the “amazingly complex formulas” he had needed to execute to preserve the body from decomposing over the past two years. Judar had tuned him out when he started talking about the “meticulous and delicate balance” he had to maintain when he was combining heat and water magic, instead choosing to stare at the blond’s gaunt face: cheeks sunken, lips cracked and pale, deep bags carved beneath closed eyes.

Alibaba would need a whole year to recover from his “death.” They had already been gone for two years and a _whole_ year meant adding another three hundred and sixty-five days to that already astronomical number.

It had been easy for Judar to make the decision.

Although Judar had developed a sort of begrudging fondness for the disgraced third prince of Balbadd during their time together—the clay doll had saved him from being turned into dinner several times before they ran into their “express ride home” and despite the rumors, Judar wasn’t _completely_ heartless—he didn’t have quite enough affection for him to stick around for another three hundred and sixty-five days. Not with just Yunan for company. _Especially_ not with _just_ Yunan for company.

Judar had always felt on edge around Yunan. Even now, he could feel a prickling beneath his skin just by being within ten feet of the other magi. Judar never understood why the blond inspired such a reaction in him, especially when they have only met a handful of times, but from the moment that oversized salamander dropped them off at the lonely, wooden hut in the middle of nowhere, Judar had been itching to leave. Judar shifted his gaze from Alibaba’s sleeping face to his own clenched hand. The rukh were louder here too. While they were in the very heart of the Dark Continent, it had been reduced to a mere whisper in his ear. But now, Judar could clearly hear the song of the rukh calling for him, telling him how terribly he was missed, how they had ached at his absence.

Judar longed to once again feel the thrum of raw power beneath his fingertips. He would never admit it, but he had felt _weak_ when he was forced to rely on Alibaba for protection while they were traveling together. Aladdin’s chosen king had been reduced to a clay doll and he still could fend for himself better than Judar could. It was a sobering experience, one that made his face burn from shame whenever he thought about it.

Pulling one of Yunan’s ratty, old carpets from a dusty corner set off a pang of longing in Judar for the beautiful carpets of Kou. As he unrolled the carpet—could it really be considered one when it was so...unrefined?—Judar wondered how his king candidates were doing. Was the civil war between the Ren siblings over? Was it still waging? Who was winning? _Were any of them dead?_

A small voice at the back of his head asked the question he wanted to know the answer to most:

_Did somebody else choose him...and...did he choose them back—_

A burst of rukh surged through him as Judar shook the carpet free. He ran forward, small stones digging into the soles of his feet, dragging the piece of cloth behind him. He tossed it in front of him, the formulas coming to him without him even needing to think about it. The carpet stayed suspended in the air as Judar jumped. He didn’t look back when it whizzed away into the dark, the cottage becoming smaller and smaller behind him, Yunan and Alibaba’s magoi fading away until Judar was, once again, completely alone.

 

| | | |

 

It had taken a week for Judar to travel from The Rift to Sindria. He could have made it in fewer days if he really pushed himself to his limits but Judar’s body had yet to acclimate to suddenly being surrounded by rukh when he was so deprived of it before. A side effect of the return of his powers were the sparks of lightning that would ignite from his fingertips at random intervals. He had almost fallen off the carpet when it happened the first time, his eyebrows barely escaping from being singed off his face. It didn’t take long for Judar to figure out that the sparks appeared with more frequency the more magoi he expended. Finding death by incineration rather unappealing, especially since he had barely escaped it when Aladdin forced him into space, Judar decided to take things easy. 

He had already been gone for two years, a few more days couldn’t possibly hurt him, was what Judar told himself as he landed in one of the port towns of Parthevia, making sure to alight in a secluded place where he wouldn’t draw as much attention. Bundling the carpet under his arm, Judar strolled through the streets of the bustling town, pilfering a heavy bag of coin from the first person he came across. He wanted to be back in the air as soon as possible and the fastest way to rebuild and stabilize his magoi was to gorge himself on food. Judar was momentarily distracted from his goal of locating a tavern when he noticed that nearly everyone was using a carpet. He frowned at the unusual sight. Most of them weren’t even magic-users, mere commoners from what he could see of the quality of their magoi. How were they powering the carpets? 

Judar’s curiosity was piqued over this strange sight but he had more pressing matters to attend to. He ducked into a tavern and ordered a feast that would definitely feed more than one. As he wolfed down the plates of chicken and fish, carefully avoiding the sides of greens, Judar once again noticed something bizarre. There was a woman sitting alone at a table and she was gesticulating wildly as she spoke, even though there was no one there to listen to her words. He took a careful look around the room, chewing on his stew-soaked bread slowly. A man, also seated by himself, was doing the same thing as the woman, though he was lacking the exaggerated movements she had. They both had a conch-like object clenched in their hands and were holding it up to their ears. Nobody else in the tavern even spared a look their way so Judar assumed this “speaking to yourself like a madman” phenomenon was not out of the ordinary.

After cleaning off the last of the baked shrimp, Judar left the tavern feeling satisfied, reenergized, and with a goal in mind. He observed his surroundings, wondering about the best way to bring his objective to fruition. Times like these made Judar miss the jeweled wand he had before it transfigured into the staff he currently possessed. He loved his new staff, its dark and sinister appearance told people that Judar was dangerous and he _revelled_ in it, but it wasn’t the most suitable when the situation called for a subtler touch. 

An opportunity presented itself just as Judar was about to throw all caution to the wind and call down a rain of ice in the middle of the street. A small grin pulled at his lips as he waited for his prey to get closer, sticking his foot out when the young boy was within reach. The boy tripped over Judar’s extended foot, the mountain of scrolls he had been cradling spilled out of one arm while the conch he had gripped in his other hand flew from his fingers. It bounced a couple of times before landing a few feet away from where the boy crashed into the dirt.

“Oops,” Judar snickered under his breath as he dashed for the conch, scooping it up quickly and throwing it into his scarf. While the people were distracted by the small commotion, Judar slipped away. He smirked to himself as he unrolled his new carpet. He had ditched Yunan’s old rag earlier when he came across a stall selling silks, immediately purchasing the finest-looking carpet they had—a gold and red piece with an intricate design framing its centerpiece, an eight-pointed star, and tasseled hems. Judar leaped onto the carpet and was off, back into the air and speeding towards his destination.

Once Judar had gotten over the pleasure his little act of mischief brought about, he pulled the strange object out from his scarf and examined it. By all appearances, it looked like a regular conch with the insides cleaned out, though it was also coated in a shiny layer that suggested it could be artificial. Considering how there were an abundance of them being used in the port town, Judar was almost absolutely sure that it was man-made. He poked and prodded the shell, holding it up to his ear like how the man and woman had done so in the tavern.

Nothing. The conch stayed lifeless in his hand. Judar scowled at the stupid thing, shaking it and trying to _will_ it to work. He was about to toss the useless contraption overboard when he stayed his hand, instead thrusting it back into his scarf. He laid down on his side, stretching languidly before propping his head up with his palm. He had gone through the trouble of stealing the conch, he might as well hang on to it for a little longer. His curiosity about its abilities still burned strongly and Judar could ask _him_ for help when he saw him.

A smile curved the edges of his lips upwards at the thought. Being well-fed and having a carpet he actually liked meant that he would be able to better channel his magoi, which also meant he would be able to fly for longer. As long as he paced himself and used his magoi effectively, he would be at the island in no time.

 

| | | |

 

The protective shields surrounding the kingdom of Sindria were exactly the same as Judar remembered them. He was delighted by this discovery, unconsciously appeased by the knowledge that _something_ had stayed the same while he was away.

Judar touched the shield gently and felt the rippling pulse of magic beneath his fingertips. He wondered what type of entrance he wanted to make. He could go all out and tear the shields apart in a magnificent display like what he did when he last visited the island. _That_ would certainly catch his attention. Judar grinned at the idea. It sounded good in his head. He’s always been a big fan of over-the-top theatrics. He was on the verge of summoning his staff when he changed his mind. He pressed on the shield, altering the formulas just enough that he could slip through the shields unnoticed while keeping them intact.

Two years have passed and while Judar could definitely make his entrance a flashy one, he decided that he would play nice this time. Judar knew how proud he was about the sorceress he had taken under his wing. While Judar could not deny that she was certainly skilled in the magic department, Judar also knew he was leagues beyond her in terms of pure magical prowess. He could shatter these feeble shields easily but it _has_ been two years and Judar decided it was best not to poke the buttons of the Sindrian king at the moment of his return.

Judar flew towards the palace, unaware of the smile that grew larger and larger the closer he got to the Purple Leo tower with its signature domed roof, adorned with uniformed panels of teal-stained glass. Judar was glad to see that the palace looked the same as he remembered it, which meant that it would be a simple task to find his way to his room.

The glassless window was unprotected as always when Judar stepped through its arched frame. He let the carpet fall in a crumpled heap under the window as he skipped over to the king-sized bed and threw himself on it, a little cry of happiness escaping his lips as he let himself _sink_ into the plush mattress. Judar’s eyes fluttered close automatically, his limbs turning to jelly at the cloudlike softness they were resting on. He was tired from the days upon days of flying and while he had wanted to stay awake for the little surprise he planned to spring—eager to see the dumb, shocked expression he would undoubtedly wear, excited to just _see_ his face again—Judar was tempted to just take a nap right there and then.

Judar rolled onto his stomach, eyes still closed, fisting his fingers into the soft fabric of the sheets. The gears in his mind began to slow down for the first time since he left The Great Rift, and his thoughts drifted to all the other times he had been in this bedchamber, on this very bed. He pushed his face into the sheets, cheeks flushing hotly as he tried but failed to stop the smile on his lips. Not every single memory of his visits to Sindria had been pleasant but most of them were ones that he could look back at fondly, especially the ones that took place here in his private quarters.  

Two years had passed since Judar was forced into exile. Two whole years. Seven hundred and thirty days without his gentle touch or the taste of him on his tongue. How Judar still had his sanity intact, he will never know. He was the most potent aphrodisiac that Judar knew and he hadn’t stood a chance against him. Not that Judar would have resisted anyway. He had willingly fallen into this addiction, willingly thrown himself, body and soul, into this…

Judar snorted.

Growing up under the invasive gaze of Al-Thamen, he had been trained to believe that this silly emotion was a weakness. He had been taught to stamp it out in favor of other malicious and _stronger_ emotions that would make him more powerful, to better serve the cause of the organization. Judar had liked the idea of being strong, and having no ideals of his own beyond the knowledge of how important he was to the success Al-Thamen was striving towards, he did as he was told.

And yet.

Judar’s cheeks were even hotter before and they were beginning to hurt from how widely he was smiling.

Ah.

Judar sighed, one that was a little sad, but also a little content. His body ached but not with the fatigue that came with traversing a wide expanse of lands and oceans in a short span of time, but with something else. Something a little more vulnerable. Something Judar has never shown anyone else other than the ruler of this kingdom.

“Where are you?” He whispered. The next three words were muffled in another sigh and lost to the interwoven threads of the satin blanket.

Judar comforted himself with the assurance that night would fall in Sindria eventually and he’ll _have_ to retire to his bedchamber sooner or later. He inhaled deeply. Filling his senses with his scent will have to suffice for now—

Judar’s eyes snapped open. He took another deep breath before scrambling off the bed in a rush. He stared at the bed, at the body-sized indent that he had left behind. In his carmine eyes swirled a cocktail of surprise, confusion and slowly intensifying horror. He scanned the rest of the room, only now noticing the changes he had blindly ignored before. The rosewood jewelry boxes that housed his metal vessels were no longer sitting on the dresser next to his bed. Judar peered under the bed, expecting clay jugs of stoppered wine only to find boxes of scrolls. Most importantly, the crystal cabinet, he had bragged about how expensive it was to Judar once and how it had cost him a fortune just to ship the piece of furniture to Sindria, was no longer standing parallel to the far right wall where his desk was situated. It was almost as if the cabinet had disappeared into thin air, taking with it the the collection of ship models that he had always been so proud of.

If Judar stared hard enough at the now bare wall, he could almost see the miniature battleship he had gifted him on his twenty-seventh birthday. They had spent the entire day together building it—he had been so patient even when Judar grew bored within the first fifteen minutes, handling the individual parts with an oddly familiar care that Judar couldn’t place. It was only later when they were lying in bed next to each other, Judar had protested and insisted that he needed to go back to Kou but he had pulled the birthday card on him, making it impossible for Judar to deny him his, in his own words, “simple request,” and he was brushing the dark strands of his bangs away from his face that Judar made the connection.

He had built the ship with the same type of care he used when he touched Judar. Infinitely gentle, as if he was afraid whatever was beneath the pads of his fingers would break if he exerted even just a little too much strength. The realization had stolen the breath from Judar’s chest and he had turned his back on him. He didn’t notice anything amiss as he wrapped his arms around Judar’s bare middle and pulled him close, pressing a soft kiss in the hollow spot beneath his ear before burying his nose into his hair. He had fallen asleep quickly but Judar had stayed awake for a long time, eyes wide as he stared at how the battleship sat proudly in the very center of the collection of ships models.

Judar tore his eyes away from the wall and ran. He snatched the carpet up from the floor and threw it out the window, nearly tripping over his own two feet in his haste. He landed gracelessly on the piece of silk and didn’t look back as the carpet brought him far, far away from the place that was no longer the haven he remembered it to be.

 

 


	2. Part II

Judar startled awake with a gasp. He dragged one hand down his face, gripping his free one above his left chest, where his heart was beating wildly. He cursed under his breath, cheeks aflame from the dream he just had—the night of his twenty-seventh birthday, they had done more than just build the ship. His laugh was shaky as he closed his eyes for a few moments, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves. His touch, a soft caress to his right cheek...it had felt so real. A tremor raced up Judar’s spine and he let out a low, strangled noise, curling into himself to—do what? To lessen the pain? To stop himself from falling apart? To admit to himself that he _missed_ him? 

He missed him…?

Hemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhimhemissedhim _He missed him_ — 

“Judar?”

He missed...him…?

Opening his eyes slowly, Judar turned his head to his right, where his name, said carefully, said with uncertainty lacing the two syllables, had come from. His eyes were wide and glassy as he stared and stared and _stared_.

A pair of eyes stared back. Shades of gold like molten honey. The star-studded night that had fallen like a blanket around them did nothing to dim their brilliance, only served to provide a dark background for them to shine bright, even brighter than Judar remembered. He was a fool to have thought that his faulty memory could do even a shred of justice to reproduce how they _glowed_.

“Sinbad?”

Sinbad smiled, his eyes crinkling into perfect crescents. “Judar,” he repeated, his voice was warm now, the question gone. “I had a feeling I would find you here.”

It took a good minute for Judar to find his voice again, and in that time, Sinbad had taken a seat next to him. The platform was a small one, which meant that Judar could feel the heat rolling off of Sinbad’s body and washing over him. He hadn’t realized that his own body was chilled from the ocean breeze and he rubbed his exposed arms unconsciously. When he finally regained the use of his voice, Judar stuck his nose in the air and sneered at the other man. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Parthevia running that fancy new company of yours?” 

“I could ask you the same question. What is the great oracle of Kou doing in Sindria?” Amusement laced Sinbad’s words as he looked at Judar, his eyes steady on his face.

Judar looked away, too overwhelmed to hold his gaze. He wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming or not. How could Sinbad be here? It didn’t make any sense. He considered the possibility that the Sinbad next to him was but a figment of his imagination, conjured by his brain to further torture him. That sounded somewhat plausible, if Judar thought about it. His mind had finally snapped—Sinbad’s shoulder brushed against his for the shortest of seconds, killing that line of thought instantaneously. Judar bit down on his bottom lip as he scrambled for a comeback to Sinbad’s question, which was still hanging in the air between them. “I don’t need to answer you. Last I heard, you’re not a king anymore.” 

Sinbad chuckled. “You’re not wrong about that,” he looked away as well, his gaze softening as he looked over the maze of buildings that stretched on until it met the ocean. Each little square house was kissed by moonlight, bathing them in a soft glow unlike the fiery radiance from the sun that Judar had seen earlier that day. “Circumstances have changed and I am no longer king.”

Those five words formed an iron vice around Judar’s heart, squeezing it and threatening to crush it into a pulp. His mouth felt like it was stuffed full of dry cotton, his tongue heavy like lead. There was bubble of air in his throat and his hands were trembling. The confusion over his sudden appearance disintegrated and Judar was suddenly filled with an intense loathing for the man sitting beside him. How could he have said those words so easily? As if he didn’t care, as if he knew the tremendous pain they would inflict on Judar. What was all the fighting for? The insults, the anger, the tears, the hurt. What were they worth to Sinbad if he could just throw it all away? Judar bit down harder on his lip.

What was a Magi without his King?

Judar was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a hand on his arm. He looked at the hand before shifting his gaze to the owner of it. Sinbad’s lips were pursed. “Are you cold? You’re shaking.”

“I’m not—” Judar didn’t even get a chance to finish his sentence before Sinbad shrugged off his coat. He draped the thick fabric over the back of Judar’s shoulders, ignoring the weak protests from the younger man. He had to admit that the extra layer was not unwelcomed, the chill from the Southern Sea was beginning to seep past his skin and flesh to sink into his bones. Judar accepted Sinbad’s concerned gesture begrudgingly, pulling the coat closer around his body. “I see you're still a fan of drowning yourself in white,” Judar tugged on the heavy sleeves of the coat.

“It suits me. That's what everyone says,” Sinbad shrugged with a small laugh.

“Black suits you better,” Judar retorted with a smirk. “But I guess not everyone has had the pleasure of seeing your half-depraved state.”

“I wore black for a long time two years ago,” Judar’s smirk faltered at the somber tone Sinbad’s voice had suddenly adopted. He looked over to see that Sinbad was already looking at him, a strange expression twisting his features. “Did you know Hakuryuu held a funeral for you? There was no body but he was adamant.”

“...can't say I do.”

“Have you not been to Kou?”

Judar didn't want Sinbad to know that his first thought after returning from the Dark Continent was to see him. He didn't want Sinbad to know how much he had longed to see his face again, to hear his voice, to be so close to him once more. Judar didn't want Sinbad to know that he had this invincible hold over him. To admit that he had not seen Hakuryuu was to admit that Sinbad, the man who had both welcomed and shunned Judar at the same time, will always take priority no matter how kind or cruel he was to him. Judar took his time coming up with an answer. He could have just lied to Sinbad but something about the idea repelled him. He has never lied to Sinbad before. Sure, he’s told him some half-truths but that was different from a full-on lie, and he didn't want to start now.

“Kou is further away from the Dark Continent compared to your dumb island,” he finally said. It was the truth. Sinbad wouldn't be able to contest that.

“The Dark Continent?” Sinbad arched an eyebrow. “What were you doing there?”

“That's none of your business,” Judar wagged a finger at him. “How did _you_ know I was here? I doubt you or your djinns would have been able to sense me all the way here when you're in Parthevia.”

“I had Yamraiha incorporate a spell in her shields that would trigger if it ever sensed your rukh. If you're wondering how I got here so fast, I have a transportation circle set up in my office that allows me to travel between Parthevia and Sindria freely.”

Judar barely registered the second half of his sentence, too engrossed by the first. A spell? For his rukh? “Why would you do that?” He asked, thoroughly confused.

It was Sinbad’s turn to be quiet. He was pensive as he kneaded his hands together. “I attended your funeral, Judar,” he said again.

“Yeah. You already said that,” Judar huffed, not quite understanding what he was trying to get at.

“I attended your funeral,” Sinbad repeated. His voice sounded strained. “I saw the casket. I can still smell the lilies and the incense some nights. Aladdin told me what happened. He told me what he did to you,” Sinbad ran a hand through his hair. “I thought you _died_ , Judar.”

It dawned on Judar then what his absence had done to Sinbad. He didn't know what to say but Sinbad was more than willing to fill in the empty spaces.

“It was...difficult—” here, Sinbad barked out a low laugh. “—hearing what Aladdin told me. That you were really gone. I didn’t believe it at first but there was just so much ‘evidence’ that suggested you were no longer here. I spoke to the other magis and their responses were all the same, that your rukh had disappeared completely. Even Hakuryuu was convinced that you had died. He was devastated too but he accepted it fairly well, called it an equal exchange for what he did to Alibaba.

“Grief is an excellent motivator to get someone to do work. I surprised even Ja’far,” Sinbad laughed again, that same sad laugh. “He said he has never seen me work as hard as I did the few months following your funeral,” Sinbad dropped his head and laced his fingers together, resting them in his lap. “Grief also makes you do irrational things. Everyone accepted that you had passed but I...I had Yamraiha create the spell and cast it around Sindria around the time I abdicated as king. Just in case.”

The melancholy expression on his face aged him suddenly, made Judar acutely aware that Sinbad was in his thirties now, that he had missed Sinbad’s thirtieth birthday while he was away, that he had missed _two whole years_ of Sinbad’s life. They had never been apart for that long, not since the time they first met all those years ago in that village on the border of Reim.

Judar wrapped the coat tighter around himself, his fingers digging into the sleeves. He still didn’t know what to say. _What_ could he possibly say that could come even close to comforting the sorrow that Sinbad had been carrying around for the past two years?

“I’m glad I was insistent back then,” the gloomy tone dissipated from Sinbad’s voice. He was looking at Judar again, those golden eyes warm once more. His smile showed the whites of his teeth peeking past stretched lips. “Here you are. Exactly where I thought I would find you.”

Judar still didn’t know what to say, his emotions were a turbulent mess and he didn’t understand how Sinbad could so easily switch from one end of the feeling spectrum to the other, so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You’ll have to do a lot more to get rid of me, stupid king.”

Sinbad was beaming at him. Judar realized belatedly that he had used his old nickname for him. It had slipped past his lips like clockwork without him even being conscious of it. Judar’s face burned. He had _just_ accused Sinbad of no longer being king and here he was calling him one again. He burrowed his face deeper into the coat. Ah, Judar hated how good, how _natural_ , the nickname had sounded in his ears, and how tender it had been on his tongue.

“I have to confess, I wasn’t sure if I was really going to find you here. There have been times when the alarm triggered over traces of regular black rukh. Even so,” Judar let out an excited gasp when Sinbad presented a basket of fruit seemingly out of thin air to him. Not just any fruit either but a basket of _peaches_.

Judar snatched one up, biting into the soft flesh greedily. He made a noise of absolute bliss when the sweet juice of the peach permeated his mouth. He devoured the first one in a rush, grabbing another after he was done.

“These are from Kou,” Judar stated with a sly grin.

“They are,” Sinbad admitted easily.

“So you just happened to have a bunch of Kou peaches lying around your office?”

Sinbad shrugged. “What can I say. I’ve developed a fondness for them over the years,” he held Judar’s gaze as he spoke. Judar swallowed the piece of peach in his mouth and, for the first time that night, had the courage to stare back into Sinbad’s eyes without feeling like he would be reduced to a blushing mess under the warmth in them. Judar was probably still blushing, his face was probably painted in every shade of red that existed but he realized he didn’t really care anymore.

They met each other halfway, with Judar leaning forward and Sinbad dipping his head down. Judar’s eyes fluttered close when their lips pressed against each other. They stayed like that for a few seconds, Judar savoring the feeling of _finally_ having Sinbad’s lips on him again, before Sinbad began to move, angling his chin so they could better mold their lips together. Judar let Sinbad do whatever he wanted, happy to let him take the lead while he matched his movements.

Judar let the half-eaten peach fall from his right hand when he felt Sinbad’s fingers brush against his. They laced their fingers together, closing up the lonely gaps that existed in between each finger before they found each other, Sinbad squeezing tight as if he was holding his entire world in his hand. Judar’s free hand found its way to Sinbad’s face, caressing the hard line of his jaw as they continued to kiss. Sinbad’s curled his other hand behind Judar’s neck, playing with the ends of his hair gently. Judar shivered violently every time Sinbad’s calloused fingers ghosted across his bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

The kiss turned feverish when Sinbad slid a tongue across the slit of Judar’s lips. Judar granted him permission eagerly, opening wide and welcoming. Sinbad took his sweet time mapping out the wet warmth of his mouth, as if it was his first time exploring it. Judar, impatient and needy, pushed his own tongue into Sinbad’s mouth, making an embarrassing little sound when he noticed that Sinbad tasted the same, perhaps even better than he remembered. Wine, of course, something crisp and strong that Judar has never tasted anywhere else, and the sea.

Judar hated his body for needing something as stupid as air. He ignored the burning in his lungs for as long as he could before breaking away from the kiss. Sinbad followed him as Judar swayed back, slightly dizzy from the lack of oxygen to his brain. Sinbad rested his forehead against his and let out a small chuckle. Judar didn’t get what was so funny but he let out a small snicker of his own and soon, they were both laughing their hearts out, holding onto each other as if their lives depended on it.

Sinbad wiped the tears that had gathered at the edges of Judar’s eyes once they’ve calmed down a little. He left his hand on Judar’s cheek, stroking it gently. He was smiling again, not the easy one that Judar knew was part of his amicable ruler persona, but a genuine one that actually reached his eyes, one that he rarely showed but one that Judar was intimately familiar with.

“I missed you,” Sinbad said simply. It made Judar’s heart swell, made his blood sing sappy love songs in lost languages for the man with the violet hair and the golden eyes. The man that Judar knew from the first moment he laid his eyes on him that he wanted and will always want.

Judar reached one hand up and brushed a few stray hairs away from Sinbad’s forehead. Sinbad sighed quietly, reaching up to cradle Judar’s hand in his own as he closed his eyes. “I know you did,” Judar retorted cheekily, earning himself an amused smirk from Sinbad. “I missed you too.” 

“Stay with me tonight, please?”

It was not often that Sinbad was bashful. Judar was delighted at this new side of Sinbad. It felt good to be on the other side for once, the side where _Sinbad_ was the one doing the fretting instead of Judar.

“You know, maybe being away from me for two years really did you some good.”

“Judar—”

Judar leaned forward again, kissing the side of Sinbad’s mouth before wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Judar smiled into Sinbad’s shoulder when he felt a pair of strong arms circle around his own waist, squeezing him back. “I’ll stay.”

 

| | | |

 

Considering that Sinbad has not been king of Sindria for the past two years and no longer had access to the king’s chambers, they had to make do by breaking into one of the guest rooms. Sinbad and Judar’s unconventional relationship has never been public knowledge—there were a few of Sinbad’s generals who had their suspicions but they have never confronted him about it, trusting that their king knew what he was doing when it came to matters that involved the volatile high priest of the Kou empire—which meant that Sinbad couldn’t just have a room prepared for him. Even if Judar stayed out of the picture, Sinbad would still have to explain himself about why he decided to show up in Sindria without warning, in the middle of the night no less. It was headache that Sinbad did not want to deal with so breaking and entering it was.

“You should have at least kept your bedroom for yourself,” grumbled Judar as he climbed onto the bed. “There’s so many rooms here, the lizard and his wife can find some other room to sleep in.”

“Drakon is king now. It only makes sense that he and Sahel get to enjoy the king’s quarters that I had the pleasure of enjoying when I was king,” Sinbad explained with a shrug. He locked the door behind him before joining Judar on the bed. “Besides, it’s not like the guest rooms are any less magnificent than my once-upon-a-time bedroom. We made sure to furnish them with the best furniture and decorations we could find.”

Judar huffed, still not impressed. What impressed him was when Sinbad began to strip himself of his garments, revealing tanned skin and wiry muscles that ignited a small but potent flame of desire in his gut. Judar stretched out on the pillows, a lazy smirk on his lips, enjoying the show Sinbad was unwittingly putting on for him. “Still sleep in the nude, I see. Pervert.”

Sinbad chortled at the accusation, knowing that it was without malice. After he had divested himself of his top, he leaned over Judar and kissed him. Judar kissed him back enthusiastically, latching onto the opportunity to run his hands up Sinbad’s bare torso and down his back. He hummed into the kiss, appreciating that Sinbad’s body still felt the same beneath his wandering fingers. An arm snaked under Judar’s body and wrapped around his waist. Without breaking the kiss, Sinbad rolled them over so Judar was now lying on top of him, most of his lithe body resting on his chest. 

“Can I undress you?” Sinbad breathed against his lips, his voice was low with just a hint of roughness tinging his words. 

“Since when have you ever asked for permission?” Judar sneered. He sat up, pulling Sinbad up with him before turning his back on him. Judar knew that Sinbad liked starting with his gold accessories so he pulled his braid to one side to give him easy access. “Go ahead, pervert.”

With one last roll of his eyes at the new nickname Judar decided to bestow upon him, Sinbad undid the clasps on the choker with careful fingers and freed Judar’s neck from the heavy piece of jewelry. He placed it on the bedside drawer before trailing a line of butterfly kisses down the now exposed skin. Judar shivered at every touch, shooting an annoyed glare at Sinbad, who only responded with a lopsided grin. The gold bangles were the next to go and Sinbad repeated his earlier action, leaving a line of kisses that started from the tips of his fingers, traveling up his knuckles, his wrists, and his arms that ended at his shoulders. Judar wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill Sinbad or if he wanted to kiss him senseless.

Sinbad ran into a minor obstacle when he reached to take off Judar’s scarf. “Where did you get this from?” Sinbad regarded the conch curiously as he pulled it out of the folds.

Judar had completely forgotten that he still had it. “I stole it off a kid in Parthevia,” he announced proudly, earning a disgruntled and disapproving look from Sinbad, which he promptly ignored. “What is it anyway? The people who were using it were holding it up to their ear and talking to themselves.”

“It’s actually a new magic tool that my company made,” Sinbad declared, some pride of his own seeping into his words. “It allows people to speak with each other even across great distances. No more waiting for weeks or months for a letter to travel from one country to another.”

“Really? How does it work—hey!” Judar rubbed the spot where Sinbad had bumped the conch against his head, scowling at the other man.

“You shouldn’t have stolen this, they’re not exactly cheap,” Sinbad berated as he placed the conch next to the gold choker and bangles. “I’ll teach you how to use it when I get you one of your own,” he grinned at this, which dispelled Judar’s own foul mood.

“I don’t need your help. I bet Hakuryuu can get me one and teach me how to use it,” Judar joked playfully.

Sinbad’s hands stilled for a moment before he went back to unraveling the tie that held Judar’s braid in place. “Ah, yes. Your chosen king. I’m sure he will do whatever he needs to please his magi.”

“What?” Judar turned his head slightly so he could look at Sinbad’s face. He managed to catch a glimpse of the harsh line his mouth had been set in before Sinbad schooled his features back into one that was more agreeable.

“Hmm?” Sinbad released Judar’s hair from its braid, smoothing out the soft waves and letting them fall delicately behind his shoulders. He carded his fingers through Judar’s hair, devoting all of his attention to combing out the kinks and tangles gently so he wouldn’t overstress the strands, glossy even under the dim moonlight that filtered through the curtains of the window, dark as the midnight sky. Every now and then, he would pinch a piece of hair between his fingers and bring it to his face, inhaling the scent and placing a kiss on it.

“Don’t try to play dumb with me,” Judar battled with himself internally to not be distracted by the tenderness Sinbad was showing. His hair has always been his greatest pride, his only solace at times when he felt particularly tortured by Al-Thamen. To see Sinbad treat it with such respect and care, almost bordering on worship, clouded Judar’s mind with affection for the man and it made him more than willing to overlook the accusatory tone that Sinbad’s earlier words were dripping in.

“I’m not playing dumb,” Sinbad defended. Judar was sure that Sinbad knew how unconvincing he sounded even to his own ears.

“Do you have something to say about Hakuryuu?”

“Nothing except that you made your choice two years ago.”

Judar’s features scrunched into one of disbelief. Was Sinbad _really_ accusing him of this? Judar scowled at him, slapping Sinbad’s hand away from his shoulder where it was resting. “You don’t get to do this. I chose you so many times, Sinbad,” his voice cracked on his name and he could feel the heat pounding behind his eyes. “I kept choosing you and I never stopped choosing you but you never _once_ chose me back.”

There was a pregnant pause where they stewed in the emotionally-charged atmosphere that had fallen over them. Judar kept his head down, hands fisted in his lap as he tried to blink the hot tears that threatened to spill from his eyes away. Deep down, he knew that Sinbad wasn’t wrong. He had chosen Hakuryuu two years ago. It wasn’t a decision that he regretted, not at all. He had thrived being by Hakuryuu’s side, gotten drunk on the adrenaline that surged through his veins whenever they were in battle together.

Before anything else, Judar was a magi. He will always be a magi, first and foremost. It was a magi’s duty to choose a king and stay by their side, for better or for worse. Sinbad will never understand what it’s like, not that Judar blamed him. Sinbad wasn’t a magi after all, he will never be able to comprehend how amazing, how _safe_ it feels to have that bond established between a magi and his king. It wasn’t something that Judar could easily explain either. It was more than words. It was a feeling, a promise. It’s what made Judar fearless when they were fighting Gyokuen. It was what made Judar so sure that they couldn’t possibly lose against the witch that had tormented both Hakuryuu and him for most of their lives.

Judar had been brimming with confidence too when they had gone up against Alibaba and Aladdin. But this was a different fight, the rules had changed. A fight between two kings and their magis. The stakes were much higher than it had been when they fought Gyokuen but Judar had charged right in without stopping to think about the consequences. It was only when he was being forced further and further away from the earth did Judar realize he had underestimated his opponent. Judar was gripped with fear when cracks began to spider-web all across the the surface of his borg. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t _ready_ to die. His magoi had given out soon after and while he wheezed for oxygen that did not exist and choked on his own spit, too bright images flashed dizzyingly past his mind’s eye, finally settling on a face that he knew all too well. _His_ was the last face he saw before he blacked out.

“I’m sorry,” Sinbad said, so softly that Judar would have missed it if the room wasn’t suffocating in silence. Judar chose to stay quiet so Sinbad continued. “You’re right. I never chose you back and for that I’m sorry. I wanted to but...you know that I couldn’t.”

“You could have, Sinbad. Don’t try to lie to me or yourself,” Judar spat back. He rubbed his left arm. The room suddenly felt so cold.

“You must understand that I couldn’t,” Sinbad insisted. “Not with you being part of Al-Thamen.”

“I would have given up Al-Thamen in a heartbeat if you had chosen to keep me by your side. The two of us...we would have been unstoppable. We would have destroyed Al-Thamen. We would have been _together_.”

Silence fell upon the room once more. Judar could hear himself breathing and he hated how ragged his breaths sounded.

“There are a lot of things we would have been if things had turned out differently,” Sinbad said slowly after what felt like an eternity. He placed one careful hand on Judar’s arm, the one he had been rubbing unconsciously. Judar didn’t resist when he drew him closer so that they were facing each other. He placed two fingers beneath Judar’s chin and tilted it upwards so their eyes would meet. Carmine to gold. “But things have happened and I’d rather not dwell on the past when you’re right in front of me in this moment, within reach, alive and _real_ ,” Sinbad slid his hand up Judar’s arm to cradle his cheek, using one thumb to caress him. “I never thought I would get to hold you in my arms again but here you are.”

Judar snorted but he leaned into Sinbad’s touch anyway, raising one hand to cover the one on his face. “Like I said, you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” a smile broke across Sinbad’s handsome face and Judar forgot what they had been fighting about earlier, instead thinking that smiles definitely suited him the best. “Can I kiss you?”

Judar arched an eyebrow, laughing a little. “What’s gotten into you? Do I need to remind you that you’ve kissed me _many_ times tonight? All without asking for permission first?”

“I just...felt that it was appropriate, after what happened,” Sinbad shrugged. “You did slap my hand earlier. I think it’s going to bruise so horribly tomorrow...” he simpered, rubbing the reddening spot with a pathetic expression.

Judar was afraid his eyes were going to get stuck in his skull from how far he rolled them back at Sinbad’s little display of childishness. “Ugh, just kiss me, you stupid old man,” despite hurling the insult-veiled consent in Sinbad’s face, Judar didn’t wait for him to make the first move. He lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Sinbad’s neck and kissing him right on his stupid, dumbfounded mouth. They fell back, Sinbad unable to support Judar’s weight with his sudden attack, landing with a bounce on the mountain of pillows.

Their teeth had knocked against each others’ and the kiss had been sloppy and messy but laying there in Sinbad’s arms, feeling the vibrations of his laughter travel between their chests that were pressed together, Judar doesn’t think he has ever felt more happy and content.

The night lasted a long time, not that Judar was complaining. They kissed for the most part, tasted each other in different, more intimate ways for the others. Judar had missed Sinbad, more than he would ever admit out loud. Sinbad was the more vocal one between the two of them, and he was also the one who showed it more. It made Judar guilty sometimes, that he wasn’t as equipped as Sinbad when it came to showing affection but Sinbad has never pressured him to be anything but himself when it came to matters of the heart, and for that he would be eternally grateful.

Sinbad had fallen asleep first, as was the usual, tired out from the traveling, the emotional up and downs, and the fun they had just had. Judar had his head propped up in one palm as he watched his...lover? He hadn’t said it aloud but just thinking about the word sent a delicious shiver up his spine and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

Sinbad, the First-Class Singularity, High King of the Seven Seas, Conqueror of Seven Dungeons, arguably the most powerful man to have ever walked this earth.

Sinbad, Judar’s lover.

Judar’s cheeks were hurting from the smile that tugged his lips from one end of his face to the other. He spent the rest of his waking moments committing every curve and line of Sinbad’s face to his memory, as if he didn’t already have it stored in a safe corner of his mind. Occasionally, Judar would trace a finger lightly along the line of his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips. Sinbad would smile faintly whenever he did that and Judar wondered if he knew it was him. He wondered if Sinbad felt as safe as Judar did whenever they were together.

Sinbad had fallen asleep first but it was Judar who woke first, sprawled on top of Sinbad. He had left a small puddle of drool on Sinbad’s chest when he slept and he quickly and discreetly wiped it off with the blanket, glad that Sinbad hadn’t been awake. He moved to shift into an upright position but found himself pinned down by Sinbad’s arm, which he had apparently draped across his waist in his sleep. Judar tried to lift Sinbad’s arm but it was strangely heavy. Judar was well aware of his lack of physical strength but he knew was definitely strong enough to lift an _arm_ of all things.

“Don’t leave,” came Sinbad’s soft whisper finally.

Judar stilled, his heart stuttering and missing a beat. He peered up to look at Sinbad’s face. His eyes were bleary but open, the brilliant gold dulled slightly from sleep. “Don’t leave,” he repeated, his voice impossibly softer than before.

Judar pulled himself up so that he was face to face with Sinbad. He touched his jaw, tracing the hard line of it, feeling how it tensed under his finger. Sinbad stroked his face with one outstretched hand, reaching further to tangle it into the silky locks of Judar’s hair. He tugged on a piece that had slipped past Judar’s shoulder, the ends of it pooling on Sinbad’s face. “Stay,” he said, pressing his lips to the dark lock of hair. “You don’t have to go.”

“You know that I have to,” Judar murmured, eyes lidding as he smiled fondly at the man beneath him. His heart was breaking but he knew that he had to be the one to leave. He was always the one who left after all. Sinbad was right when he said that there was no point in dwelling on the past. There were many things that Judar and Sinbad could have been if things had turned out differently. Many things that Judar, when he was alone and feeling particularly pathetic and vulnerable, fantasized about. That was what was so great about those fantasies, they were all safely tucked away in his head, and no amount of abuse he was forced to endure could take that away from him. 

Judar had made a choice. It was one that he didn’t regret but, unfortunately, it wasn’t the one that his heart most desired. Nonetheless, Judar was never one to leave his business unfinished.

“Sinbad,” Judar wondered when he would be able to say his name like this again. He leaned closer, so close that their hot breaths were mingling in the space that barely existed between them. “I need to go.”

Judar didn’t give Sinbad a chance to respond before he crushed their lips together. He kissed him without restraint, with a desperation in his heart that chanted over and over again those three little words that Judar could never find the courage to say. He broke away quickly, using Sinbad’s brief lapse in concentration to pull away from him. He turned his back on him as he picked up his discarded clothes so he missed how Sinbad’s fingers clawed at thin air in its futile attempt to keep him there in the safety of his embrace, to fill the lonely space that Judar had torn open when he left.

Judar dressed quickly, putting on his choker last. The sound of the clasps popping into place with a resounding click seemed to have roused Sinbad from his stupor. He sat up and watched as Judar rebraided his hair, adding just a little wind magic to each section to keep them in place. When Judar moved towards the window with the silk carpet tucked under his arm, Sinbad got off the bed, grabbed the basket of peaches, and followed him.

Judar turned around when Sinbad called his name. His entire world was filled with gold when Sinbad leaned forward and pressed his lips to his once more. Judar let his eyes close, let himself have this one final moment of weakness—where he could just be who he wanted to be: Not the high oracle of Kou. Not one of the legendary magis. But just simply Judar, Sinbad’s lover—before he was pushing away, the basket of peaches clutched tightly in his hands.

Judar felt the wordless goodbye on Sinbad’s lips, saw it in the pools of liquid gold in his eyes. He floated onto the carpet but didn’t look away until he was far, far away from the window. Far, far away until the distance between himself and the man he loved became impossible to close.

The carpet set its course for the Kou empire. The island of Sindria became merely a white speck in a sea of endless blue. Judar buried his face in his hands and let the first sob tear through his body.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First completed fic I've written for this pairing and it's this messy, almost 10k monster of a oneshot. I got into Magi very, very recently and I never expected to fall in love with this pairing as much as I did I'm dead on the floor l m f a o.
> 
> Any and all comments will be much appreciated! I disown all vocabulary and grammatical mistakes in this piece of work.
> 
> Happy Sinju Day once again!!!! Hope you enjoyed reading this!


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